


suicide ideation (talking through it can help)

by transzoemurphy



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: 7x18 foundation, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly hurt, PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Referenced Eating disorder, Suicide Attempts, aftermath of rape, derek morgan is bad at feelings, i stole a lot of this from tje canon, idk how to tag this, me? using the canon... as canon? wow, referenced canon molestation, referenced self harm, spencer reid is bad at feelings, the author is bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 02:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20734661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transzoemurphy/pseuds/transzoemurphy
Summary: "i thought about doing that too," morgan had said, referring to angel's trying to kill himself





	suicide ideation (talking through it can help)

**Author's Note:**

> uhh warning for mentions of suicide, sh, and csa :')

"What did you mean?" Reid asked, and then, stumbling through the sentence like he wished he'd never started it, "Earlier, I mean, when you said you 'thought about trying to do that too.'"  
"How do you... know that? You weren't there," Derek pointed out, avoiding the question.  
"I know, it's just, I was visiting to talk to one of the doctors, because I was concerned for Angel, and I was going to ask you for the file if you had it but you didn't, and then I overheard you talking, so."  
Derek sighed, bracing his elbows on his knees and putting his iced coffee on the stair step below him. He knit his fingers together and sighed. "I meant what I said. I've thought about trying to kill myself. Of course I lie on my FBI mental health exams. I'm sure you told them you've never had a meltdown in a McDonalds bathroom after drinking three large milkshakes, too."  
"Derek, I think that's just you."  
"Oh. Well, my point is, we all lie on those things. Prentiss has OCD, but you think she's gonna explain dermatophagia and compulsions on her ticket into the FBI? Nope. Actually,-" Morgan stopped when he felt Reid's hand on one of his own.  
"Derek," Reid said. "You don't have to talk about it."  
"No. It's okay." He shifted his position, placing laced fingers behind his neck. "You're my best friend. You should know." He took a breath and shifted again to brace both palms on his knees.  
"You don't have to tell me."  
"I want to," Derek said. He sighed again, then detached himself from the situation and approached it with a clinical efficiency, as though he were an unsub the team needed to profile. He pushed his hands deep in his pockets. "As you know, my father died in front of me when I was nine, which would mess with any kid's head. I was having nightmares and lashing out at people, and then I started burying it all inside, until sometimes it'd be like I just exploded and did something stupid, and the cycle continued."  
Morgan rubbed the back of his neck before shoving it back in his pocket and continuing, "I began playing football to channel my anger into something more productive, into something that made me happy. And I found a father figure in the leader of the community centre, Carl Buford. I was his favourite."  
The memories came crashing back, and as usual, he first remembered the way Carl had looked at him, had touched him, even before any inappropriate physical contact.  
"I started to trust him, and my mama was so happy I'd found a father figure in someone and had stopped punching people, and that wasn't her fault; she couldn't have known. My mama would beat a man to hell and back if she knew. But Buford would always take me out to his cabin on the lake. He'd buy me ice cream, mint chocolate chip, my favourite."  
Refusing to look at Reid, he let the story spill out. "He'd want to go swimming, then he'd want to go skinny dipping. He'd give me wine, Helgason wine, then something stronger. And he'd take me to his living room on this old leather couch and unless he was kneeling over me, there was this nail in the wall that I could see, sticking out, like something had been hanging there, but nothing was there, and I checked behind the couch and didn't see anything. After the first few times I created this space I could go to inside my mind, where I was completely dead to what was happening on the outside world. Um, and at one point I was so fucking tired of it that I tried downing a bunch of pills, but it didn't work, obviously, I just felt like hot shit for a week. Until recently, I refused to acknowledge that even happening, let alone being a suicide attempt. I carved myself up pretty bad, too, on my thighs where I hoped Buford wouldn't see it. When I couldn't do that, I was punching brick walls and occasionally other people."  
Derek leaned against the wall of the stairwell, letting out a startling (and obviously fake) laugh. "So, how've you been?"  
He turned, and Reid was wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. It took him a second, but Reid, never knowing how to handle social situations, switched into what Morgan privately called Unsub Mode.  
"I'm sorry that happened," Reid said quietly, letting two fingers rest on Morgan's forearm for a second. "God, I'm sorry. I'm glad you're able to talk about it now, though."  
"Yeah," Morgan said quietly. "I'm getting better."  
"If you don't mind me asking," Reid began, brushing his hair out of his face, "Have you had any suicidal thoughts recently? Or was it just then?"  
"You know how they say 'once an addict, always an addict'? That's kind of how it is for me. For the most part, I'm fine, but then something goes wrong and for a while I'm a seventeen year old boy having a breakdown on the floor of a McDonalds."  
"I'm glad it's less frequent," Reid said.  
"Thanks," Morgan mumbled. He wiped his eyes on his jacket sleeve before pulling a $20 bill out of his pocket. "We should go get food. Right now, immediately."  
"Works for me," Reid said, standing up and holding a hand out for Morgan.  
If Morgan kept their hands linked for the walk to the hotdog vendor, it wasn't anybody's business. If Morgan smiled over at Reid with this ridiculously loving look, and if the look was returned in earnest, it wasn't anybody's business.  
If Reid softly kissed Morgan's forehead as they sat on the park bench outside the headquarters eating two-dollar hot dogs, it wasn't anybody's business.  
The way he loved Reid was nobody's business, but Morgan still found himself wanting to shout it from the rooftops.

**Author's Note:**

> ugh i dont like how i ended this :((( f
> 
> uuhhhh in 8x18 when buford is taunting morgan and mentions how "mint chocolate chip ice cream" was his favourite i nearly jumped out of my skin bc thats my favourite flavour :)) my tumblr is @trans-zoe-murphy if y'all want More of Me


End file.
